Give Way to Light
by ElphieThroppDG28
Summary: Crossover with the indie vampire film Byzantium. Clara and Eleanor Webb have relocated to Las Vegas, where Clara becomes an assistant in Peter Vincent's show. After getting to know Eleanor, Charley starts to suspect the two women are not all that they appear to be. Rough right now, but hopefully I'll be able to pick it up.
1. Pilot

_I am aware that both movies have different views on vampires. I just wanted to at least try something out. If you haven't heard of Byzantium, go look up the trailer or read a review. It's supposed to be pretty good._

_Right now the rough idea is that Clara and Eleanor have traveled to Las Vegas (for some reason or another) and are living with Peter Vincent, because Clara has been hired as one of his assistants (and that would make sense, considering she works as a prostitute and has probably picked up some acting tips in the 200 years she's been a vampire). That's as far as I've gotten so far, and it might change after I see Byzantium._

_If I ever get something wrong, or something doesn't make sense, LET ME KNOW. Please. I want to make sure I do my research and make this as coherent as possible. I'm always open to feedback and suggestions, so don't be afraid to review!_

* * *

The Meadow. It was ironic, because this place was as far from a meadow as one could possibly imagine. A thriving city, neon lights, and small clustered neighborhoods surrounding it. Concrete and mortar, with the occasional patch of grass.

Las Vegas, indeed.

She hated how bright the sun was here. Back in Europe, they'd chosen places that were clouded over most of the time. She could hardly understand why her mother had decided to uproot them and move to a place where the sun was harsh and there were plenty of people around to catch them. But she had her reasoning, and Eleanor needed to trust her.

She still felt self-conscious with her new clothing. It was odd, showing as much skin as she was; she was used to jumpers, not tank tops. But her mother had said she'd be uncomfortable if she wore heaving fabric, and so she was made to adapt to the customs of this strange new place. (Although she refused to part with her red hoodie.)

She was still puzzling over her new bike - she could switch the gears, and the bike would make numerous clicking sounds - and had a difficult time keeping her balance. She walked everywhere in her old homes, but her mother had insisted she use a bike here. It was faster, more convenient. Eleanor wasn't sure if riding a noisy contraption was more convenient than walking, but she had to admit she'd gotten out of the city much quicker than she expected to.

The houses all looked the same here: big, tan, and nonthreatening. There were a few people out for walks, a jogger with his earbuds blasting music, a dog trying to drink water from a leaking hose. Eleanor glanced back at the address she'd been given, breaking in front of one of the many uniform structures.

The one thing that set this apart from the other houses was the van in the driveway. It had a Century 21 logo on the side, and Eleanor could see stakes and signs in the back window. She gently laid her bike down, cautiously walking up to the front door and ringing the bell.

A woman with strawberry-blond hair and high-heeled shoes answered. She regarded Eleanor with suspicion (the red hoodie couldn't have helped, given it was 96 degrees today), a line appearing between her eyebrows. "Yes?"

"My name is Eleanor Webb." She held herself upright, trying not to show her apprehension. "I'm here to see Charley Brewster."

"Are you a friend from school?"

"No. I…my mother works for Peter Vincent. He sent me here with a message for Charley."

"Oh, you know Mr. Vincent?" The woman's face immediately relaxed, a smile spreading across her face. "I wasn't aware any of his employees had children."

"We just moved here about two weeks ago, and -"

"You're new here? Do you have anywhere to stay? I'm a real estate agent, so if your mom's looking for a house, you can give her my card."

"Mr. Vincent has given us a few rooms in his penthouse, thank you," Eleanor answered.

The woman nodded. "Oh, where are my manners, I haven't even introduced myself." She laughed, sticking out her hand. "I'm Jane Brewster, Charley's mom."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Brewster." Eleanor hesitantly shook her hand. "So…is Charley here, then?"

"Oh, right! Charley's out at the moment, but I think he'll be home in a few minutes. Would you like to come in and wait for him?"

Eleanor tensed. "N-no…I mean, thank you, but I really should get back. I can just leave this here and -"

A loud motor cut through her words, followed by the sputtering of gas and a string of curse words. Eleanor turned, seeing a bright-yellow motorbike being wheeled down the street by a lanky boy in a plaid shirt and…puce shoes?

"There he is. Charley!" Jane waved at him, stepping out of the house to meet her son. "Charley, there's someone you need to meet."

Eleanor followed Jane down the driveway, meeting Charley at the end. He kicked the front wheel of the bike for good measure, muttering something about taking it to the junk yard.

"Were they not able to fix your bike?"

"300 bucks. I said forget it, I'd try to fix it myself." He shrugged. "I think it's time to get a new one." His eyes fell on Eleanor, eyebrows pulling together. "Who's this?"

"This is Eleanor Webb. Her mother works for Mr. Vincent."

"Peter didn't mention he had anyone new."

"They just moved in." Jane nudged Charley by the shoulder. "Well, go on. Don't be rude."

He gave his mother a look, running a hand through his dark hair. "Nice to meet you," he said, holding out his hand.

"You as well." Eleanor was surprised at the firm grip he had. "I…Mr. Vincent wanted me to give you this." She held out the envelope. "He would have sent it by mail, but my mother insisted I hand deliver it. She thinks I spend too much time indoors."

"Have the two of you gone sightseeing yet?" Jane asked.

"No, unfortunately. Mr. Vincent is very…demanding, and Mother has been working nonstop."

"Sounds like Peter," Charley said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, how about you ask Mr. Vincent if you and your mom can have a day off sometime soon? Charley and I would love to show you around."

"What?" Charley and Eleanor exchanged a glance, shocked at the proposition and at the fact that they'd voiced it at the same time.

"It'll be fun! I haven't really been out to the city in quite a while." She gave Charley a stern look. "And I'm sure you'll be a perfect gentleman, won't you, Charley?"

He folded his arms, sighing. "Yeah, Mom, whatever."

"Keep me informed, alright?" She smiled. "It was nice meeting you, Eleanor. I have to get back to work now. Lots of paperwork to take care of." She turned on her heel, heading back into the house.

Eleanor stood for a moment, not sure what to say. Charley cleared his throat. "Sorry about that. My mom can get…enthusiastic sometimes."

"It's alright." Eleanor forced a smile. "I really should get back. Mr. Vincent may have another errand for me."

"Right." Charley regarded her with curious eyes. "You know anyone else around here?"

Eleanor shook her head. "Mr. Vincent and the other employees are the only ones Mother and I see on a regular basis."

"Oh. Well…" Charley looked reluctant, but took a deep breath. "Listen, if you ever want to…you know…hang out or something…that'd be cool with me. I know it sucks being in a new place and not knowing anyone."

"You don't have to pity me, Charley. The company I have now is sufficient."

He peered at her, confused. "I…what?"

"If you wish to spend time with me, I'd rather it be on your terms and not on the fact that I'm new here."

"Okay…" he said slowly. "So is that a no?"

She smiled a little. "I'll think about it." She righted her bike, climbing on. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Charley Brewster."

"Yeah…you, too."

She blinked at him, expectant.

"What?"

"It would be nice if you addressed me with the same respect as I have given you."

"What the hell?" Charley shook his head, laughing. "What planet are you from?"

She didn't answer, watching him and waiting.

"I can't remember your name. Melanie Webb, right?"

"Eleanor."

"Okay, then. It was a pleasure to meet you, Eleanor Webb." He bowed slightly. "I hope we see each other again."

"Thank you." She pedaled away, a new-found excitement blooming in her heart.


	2. Prologue

Now that I have seen Byzantium, I've come to a decision. This will be an AU-esque thing for the film, because 3/4 of it do not exist in this story. I will be using Clara and Eleanor's backstory, as well as the very beginning of the film and other elements, but the majority of the characters are not present.

* * *

Prologue

_My name is Eleanor Webb. I live with my mother, Clara. She lives on human blood, and has done so for two centuries. So must I, for all eternity._

_She has given me three things. One, she spared my life the day that I was born. Two, she paid for my upkeep on her knees and on her back. Three, she gave me a story, the story of my life._

_My story can never be told. I write it down, over and over, and then I throw the pages to the wind. It is a secret that I must keep._

_But I wish to lie no longer._

* * *

She knew immediately that something was wrong. She'd had that sinking feeling, the one she always had, in the back of her mind all day. She'd been hoping that maybe it was nothing, that this time they could stay for longer than a couple of months. But coming up the stairs, Clara was covered in blood, sitting in the hallway, and Eleanor could only guess what her mother had done.

"Who was he?" she asked, catching a glimpse of a man's detached head.

"No one."

"_Who was he?_"

"He was a monster, I did what was necessary -"

"Why did you kill him?!"

"Pack your things, we have to leave."

"What?"

"We're moving, Eleanor -"

"I like it here!"

"_We're moving_. There's nothing for us here, we have to go -"

"Why? Why are we always leaving -"

"_Just pack!_"

She brushed past Clara, throwing two bags on her bed and stuffing them with the few shirts and jeans that she had. The packing didn't take long because neither of them had many personal possessions. It was _why _they were packing that irked her.

She understood why they had to drift. They were immortal, and if they stayed in a place too long someone was bound to notice that they didn't age. But they'd never been anywhere long enough for that to happen. Clara would always speak vaguely of men, mere shadows to Eleanor. But they were dangerous, they wanted something from them. They couldn't stick around to know exactly what that was.

The man in the living room had a distinctive smell. She wondered why Clara hadn't chosen to feed on him. Her mother said nothing of it, taking a can of gasoline and dousing the body. She lit a match, leading Eleanor down the stairs and away from their burning apartment.

Several people on the street began to shout, running toward where the fire raged, the flames reaching out of the open window. Clara didn't turn around once, hustling Eleanor along the damp pavement. Eleanor glanced back, wondering if - when - someone would find the old man, figure out what had happened to him…

"Where are we going?" Eleanor asked minutes - or was it hours? - later.

"Nipped his wallet, got some money from the club." Clara was counting several hundred-pound notes. "We're going somewhere new." She sneezed. "I'm sick of this weather."

"But where are we going?"

"We'll figure that out when we get there."

* * *

They'd hitched a ride on a semi, Clara singing her to sleep. They walked a few more miles along the highway, arriving at an airport.

"Clara, why…"

"Hush, now." She was counting the notes again. "Keep an eye out for flights that we can afford."

"But how much -"

"I said hush, Eleanor."

This was different from what they usually did. They'd sneak out during the night, sleep on the ground, wander the countryside until they stumbled on a town. Clara would easily find work, get them a small apartment, and they'd live off of Clara's money until something came up. They'd never gone this far before, never thought of distancing themselves like this.

"When did tickets become so bloody expensive?" Clara muttered, scanning the marquis. "Dammit. There has to be something we can take."

"Why are we taking an airplane?"

"Eleanor, dear, aren't you tired of walking all the time? Aren't you just longing to see someplace new?"

"I'd much rather we'd stayed where we -"

Clara held up a finger, staring at the money she held and glancing back up at the marquis. "There you are," she said, a smile appearing on her face. She strolled up to the counter, leaving Eleanor standing by herself.

There were plenty of people here, all of them moving. Eleanor wasn't used to so many of them at once. They always chose quiet places, where no one would suspect. What was Clara thinking, taking a plane somewhere else?

"Here you are." Eleanor took the ticket her mother handed her. "Wasn't cheap, so hold onto it."

Eleanor scanned the words. "New York? We're going to America?"

"That's just for now," Clara said hurriedly. "She told me that this flight gets off in New York and then takes off for Las Vegas, wherever that is. It sounds perfectly nice, don't you think?"

"You don't even know where it is?"

"We'll look at a map when we land in New York, okay?" She grabbed her daughter's wrist. "Flight's in an hour, we have to get ourselves checked over."

* * *

The scanning was awful. Remove your shoes, remove your coat, bags go here, what's in your pockets? Embarrassing, terrifying…she was glad to be done with it.

"Bunch of nosy bastards, huh?" Clara shook her head. "Come on, then. Looks like we wait here."

A half-hour went by before they boarded the plane. Clara seemed to be on high alert, scanning the terminal for someone. Eleanor knew better than to ask questions, at least at this point. She stayed quiet, dozing off and trying not to dream about the man with the cane, or the hundreds of bats, or the salty sea…

"Eleanor." Clara shook her shoulder. "Sweetheart, it's time to board."

They were in coach, toward the back. Eleanor sat by the window, marveling at how large the wing of the plane was. Clara offered to put her backpack in the overhead compartment, but she refused. She kept it close to her chest, unwilling to part with it.

Ten minutes later, they were told to fasten their seat belts. Clara grabbed Eleanor's hand as the plane rolled down the runway and disappeared into the night sky.


	3. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Eleanor Webb was hungry. It was early in the morning, and she was on a plane bound for New York. She bit the inside of her cheek, sitting on her right hand, feeling her thumbnail start to grow.

_Not now_. The man across the aisle was nursing a paper cut. _Please not now_.

She was usually good at restraining her desire, only allowing herself to consume the blood of the elderly, those ready to die. She'd had numerous temptations, but her self-control had built up over time. She hardly had to feed, and she prided herself on that.

But in the 200 years she'd been doing this, she'd have occasional slip-ups. And if she didn't do something fast, the entire cabin would discover her secret.

She mumbled something about using the bathroom, stalking to the back of the aisle and slamming the door shut behind her. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, sinking to the floor and taking a deep breath. She couldn't smell the blood anymore, not with the mixed scent of hand sanitizer and lemon cleaning soap. It made her nauseous, but she watched as the nail on her right thumb slowly shrank back to its regular size.

"Excuse me?" Someone was knocking on the bathroom door. "Are you almost done? I have to clean my finger."

Eleanor froze. It was him. From here, she could catch the faint scent of his blood, musky with a hint of something sweet. How was she supposed to…?

"I'll be out in a moment." She splashed some water on her face, chilling her skin. She squared her shoulders, opening the door and brushing past him. She sat back down, gripping the arms of her seat, the scent slowly fading from her nose.

"You alright, dear?" her mother asked.

"Yes, of course."

Clara leaned forward, her voice lowered. "We'll be in New York for a few hours before the next plane takes off. That should give us both some time to…cool off."

"But there are so many people who might be watching -"

"You've gotten good at sneaking around."

"Maybe I don't want to sneak anymore."

Clara sighed, patting her daughter's hand. "You don't have much of a choice, Eleanor. Unless you want to reveal our secret and have us both killed."

"How would we be killed? I thought you said humans aren't able to -"

A chime rang overhead. "Ladies and gentleman, we will be landing in New York City shortly. Please fasten your seat belts and remain seated as we begin our descent."

Eleanor watched her mother expectantly, but it was as if she'd forgotten what they'd been talking about. She leaned back in her seat, too tired to push for answers.

* * *

Fortunately for Eleanor, there had been a hospital near the airport. The advantage of there being so many people around was that no one notice the short brunette as she weaved her way through the hallways, scoping out the ward where they kept those who were in critical condition.

The first room she happened upon was an elderly man, in his early nineties, a number of tubes running from his arms and nose. She felt a twinge of pity for him; the state of the sheets told her that he could hardly move anymore. The only part of his body that still seemed lively were his eyes; they were a striking blue, regarding her with curiosity.

"Nurse?"

"No, sir, I'm not a nurse."

"No, of course you're not." His thin lips turned upward slightly. "You're here to take me away, aren't you?"

She nodded. "Peace be with you." The old man's blood was making her mouth water, and she felt her thumbnail protrude and sharpen. "Are you ready?"

"I've been ready for a week now." He attempted to chuckle, but the only sound that came out was a wheezing cough. "Go ahead."

Eleanor searched the man's arm for a vein. "Forgive me for what I must do," she whispered, penetrating his papery skin and placing her lips over the cut.

It didn't take her very long to drain him, but she didn't rush; it was less painful for him and made the blood last longer for her. The heart monitor near his bed bleated one long, high-pitched beep, and she quickly exited, hearing hurried footsteps behind her as the nurses rushed to the man's side.

She sat in the middle of the airport for an hour, waiting for her mother. Clara showed up about ten minutes later.

"Got that squared away." She carefully wiped blood from the corner of her mouth. "You got yours taken care of?"

She nodded somberly. "Yes."

"Well, we still have another hour. I think I'm going to find one of those cheap romance novels to read on our next flight. You coming?"

"No. I think I'll sit here."

"Alright. I'll be right over there if you need me."

Eleanor waited for her mother to walk away before digging into her backpack for her notebook. She would do what she always did when she was nervous, indulge in the one thing that would calm her down. She flipped to a clean page and started to write, for what had to be the hundredth time, her story.


	4. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Anthony Wells was not a remarkable man. He was returning to Las Vegas from another elongated visit with his sister, a woman who owned seven cats and painted ceramic plates. Anthony was the receptionist of the Bellagio Hotel on the main strip, and dreaded having to spend time with his sister, whom he thought wasn't reaching her full potential. It had taken all of his willpower not to bring it up in her presence, and thank God he'd be back home soon so he could forget about her cats and her ugly plates.

No matter how many times she said that she and her husband were perfectly happy with their simple existence, Anthony was too convinced that they never be.

To Clara, Anthony was just the person she and Eleanor needed. He was rich, fairly young, and knowledgeable of the area they were headed to. She'd watched him over the pages of her romance novel, carefully planning what to say to him. He was right across the aisle from their seats, and she made sure Eleanor sat by the window.

He was reading _Great Expectations_ on his e-reader device, an interesting choice; he claimed to be partial to older novels, finding them much more "intellectually stimulating" than the newer books that tended to be more successful. Clara let him drone about his thoughts, giving him a sweet smile every now and then, putting a hand on his knee at one point. She gave Eleanor several "please don't talk" looks, since her daughter was fond of book discussions (and Anthony seemed adamant about his opinion being the only one that mattered). But Clara new better, and wasn't about to have Eleanor chase off a potential connection.

Anthony gave Clara his business card, adding his personal cell number at the bottom before catching a taxi that would take him to the city.

"Why didn't you tell him we have nowhere to stay?" Eleanor asked.

"You'll understand when you're older." Clara sighed. "We can't seem too eager, now, can we?"

"But we –"

"Eleanor, please. I've got a splitting headache."

The time-zone change was the hardest thing to adjust to. Eleanor did the math in her head, glancing at a map she'd seen in the airport. They were approximately eight hours behind what they were used to, and Clara was especially suffering from terrible jetlag. They found an overpass a few miles away from the airport and spent a couple of days sleeping and eating the leftover airport food squished at the bottom of Eleanor's backpack. On the third day, they wandered down the highway, sleeping in an open field and then finding another overpass to take shelter under. Two days later, they found themselves entering the city as soon as the sun was up.

"We're running low on money," Clara noted, looking at her pocketbook. "Stay in the area and wait for me." She kissed the top of Eleanor's head and disappeared into a large crowd gathered on the other side of the street.

Eleanor always hated when her mother would leave her to make them money. It was one thing to leave her in a small town, or a place where there weren't many people around. This pace wasn't like the others they'd been to; it was bright and boisterous and she could easily get lost. Clara never saw the need to buy them cellphones, so how were they expected to meet up again?

She considered calling Anthony from one of the public phones nearby, but Clara had his card in her purse. She didn't understand what ignoring his help was accomplishing. He could get them a hotel room and food, at least. Why ignore him in favor of some strange flirting game Clara was so fond of playing?

It was much sunnier here, as well. Her jeans and red hoodie were making her warm, her under arms already starting to dampen. All this noise was hurting her head. She had to take refuge somewhere cool and quiet, or at least with significantly less people.

She ducked into a coffee shop, opening the map Clara had given her before she'd left. Everything was crammed together, and nothing along the strip suited their need to lay low. There had to be something in this city, somewhere out of the way, just for a while –

"Bit of a mind fuck, isn't it?"

She'd been joined by a young man with a mohawk and leather jacket, spinning a Styrofoam cup in his hands and jiggling his leg. She nodded absently, not sure if she should trust him or not.

"You lost or something?"

No. Never lost. Lost could lead to trouble. Perhaps the truth would help, for once.

"My mother and I need a place to stay."

"Let me guess. Somewhere cheap, right?"

She nodded.

"For how long?"

"A few days, at least."

"How much you got on you?"

"Not very much."

"Do you have any with you?"

She shook her head.

"Right." He sat for a minute, frowning at the table top. "Hang on a sec." He went to the front counter and came back a minute later with a water cup, which he pushed over to her. She accepted it quietly as he tore off a corner of the map and wrote something down. "Here. This is right at the edge of the strip, before the road goes through the desert. It's cheap, but it's pretty decent for a motel."

Eleanor studied the address he'd given her. "Thank you."

"You here by yourself, then?"

"I came with my mother."

"And where is she at? You need me to call her for you?"

"She doesn't have a phone."

"Doesn't have a –" He shook his head. "Whatever. I'll give you my number if you need anything else." He wrote his name – Travis – on the back of the scrap, followed by his number. "Just go to a payphone or use the motel's phone or something. You said you have money, right?"

"Yes."

"Alright, that's good. You…want me to wait here with you until your mom shows up?"

"I'll find her." Eventually. She always did.

"You sure? I mean, I'd hate to leave you sitting here all by yourself."

She stared at him for a moment, blinking slowly.

"I'm assuming that's a no." He shook his head and stood. "Alright. You have my number if you need me, okay?"

"Thank you."

"No problem. It was nice meeting you – what's your name?"

"Eleanor Webb."

"Eleanor." He nodded at her. "Travis Tate. I'll see you around, then." He took his empty cup, threw it into a trash can, and walked out the front door.

Eleanor looked again at the scrap he'd left her. The motel was called Shark Ridge, and the cost didn't look too terribly expensive. She just had to find her mother.


End file.
